


No Condolences for Your Loss

by dNwfvBj9



Category: Persona 4
Genre: Body Horror, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-19
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-08-04 07:03:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16342094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dNwfvBj9/pseuds/dNwfvBj9
Summary: He leans on the balcony, a cigarette held like incense, and she knows he is attending her funeral.





	No Condolences for Your Loss

It seems like it was a lifetime ago that she met him. Out of obligation or perhaps curiosity, she had extended her hand, and electricity crackled where they met. She had watched him as she had watched the others: emptiness, despair, and hope. Before, he been empty, but now she sees clearly; the yellow of his eyes goes on to fill the vessel of his body. When he approaches, she can feel it, a nauseous hunger threatening to spill over his entire being. In his embrace, the hand on her neck is almost loose enough not to be suffocating.

There's a saying somewhere, that hunger and lust are intertwined, two sides of the same card. As bone white sheets crumple beneath her, she wonders which suits him better.

 

* * *

 

If Adachi is sharp, an unforgiving knife twisting to draw blood, then Dojima is his opposite. There is no yellow in his eyes, and he holds her as he would a porcelain comb. When Dojima speaks, it is to say the name of a woman long dead, and she wishes he had never spoken at all. 

 

* * *

 

Adachi visits often, and they don't speak. When his hands are tight in her hair, and his teeth draw blood from her shoulder, she lets herself wish that emptiness had not won, that despair had not died, that hope had not succumbed. The light of the moon does not meet his eyes, yet they glow a startling yellow, reminding her of the power she had granted him.

When their bodies separate, Adachi drinks and drinks until he's sick, and then drinks more. Late at night she hears him retching in the bathroom, a thin and painful sound loud enough that she cannot return to sleep. But she is not kind, and she does not love him, so she takes long breaths and does not rise. Early morning and Adachi is gone, her bathroom impeccably cleaned.

 

* * *

 

Unlike Adachi, Dojima does not find his vices in alcohol; he smokes cigarette after cigarette until he's choking from slow, yellow bile. When they meet, she can taste smoke and fire, and it is familiar enough to recall memories of death and shadow. But she is alive now, and every breath she shares with him is proof of that.

It is with a lock of her hair held gently in hand that Dojima speaks.

"You have red eyes," he says. There is expectation behind his words.

"Yes," is the simple response she gives.

A moment of silence. Dojima averts his gaze. The lock of hair falls from between his fingers. He says it quickly, quietly, words leaving like a breath. "Adachi has strange eyes too."

She knows this well, perhaps too well, and she tells him as much. The look Dojima gives her is tense and distant.

 

* * *

 

She is not a fool. Adachi’s tie when he comes to her is not the usual shade of red, and she doubts it is even his tie at all. Stitches she didn’t know of unravel at his touch, moist blood dripping onto callous skin. A brief glimpse of clarity, and she realizes he hungers for a man more human than she. Unfulfilled, his needle-sharp appetite makes him cruel, and she responds in kind.

 

* * *

 

The tie Dojima wears is a shade lighter than before, and she knows why. He is still too kind and too gentle, and his fingers leave burns where they graze her. Dojima whispers his love, but it is not to his daughter’s mother, and it was never to her. He leans on the balcony, a cigarette held like incense, and she knows he is attending her funeral.

She closes the door in his face. “Don’t come again,” she tells him.

 

* * *

 

What was left unsaid remains unsaid, but Dojima does not hold her anymore, and Adachi relents from his hunger. The wound in her side opens up and bleeds merciless blood, staining pale bones with red. Ivory ribs pierce translucent skin, and from the gash, bones protrude and crumble.

In the gas station, her cap shrouds her eyes, and her jacket conceals the gaping wound. It is a sunny day, and two men are walking hand in hand as if nothing had ever happened.

**Author's Note:**

> I started this late at night and finished this late at night!


End file.
